


Heat Lightning

by DistantStorm



Series: Revenant [2]
Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Injury Recovery, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29578851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Thrawn leaves the door open. If he does not, there is no way Vanto will come to him should anything arise. This is what he tells himself.
Relationships: Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo & Eli Vanto, Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto
Series: Revenant [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173008
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	Heat Lightning

They work silently. Thrawn silently meditates upon each projected sculpt and frame, tracing curves and lines and brushstrokes with his eyes. He looks for symmetry and imbalances, patterns and inconsistencies. Across the desk, with four datapads and a computer terminal at his disposal, his aide does the same with a different medium, an alternative kind of data.

As he usually does, Vanto leans back, taking in the whole picture, the wealth of sources before picking one to focus on. Meanwhile, Thrawn leans in, closely inspecting each piece at his disposal before considering them as pieces of a greater whole.

It tends to end like this: Vanto determines the method, Thrawn the motivations. They piece them together and perfect their hypothesis. Thrawn enacts a plan and leads his aide through the process. They adjust as needed and achieve their goal, be it the defeat of an enemy force, the resolution of a political dispute, or simply the capture of some renegade pirates in their patrol sectors.

It does not tend to end with Thrawn blinking his eyes open to the thick, strange feeling of bacta.

-/

“I presume,” Thrawn says to Colonel Yularen, a quiet rasp present to match the aching of his throat from the tank's breathing apparatus, “That ISB has taken over the investigation and capture of our pirates, given my status. Any of our resources are, of course, at your disposal.” He considers the other white-clad man. “Please feel free to question me on the events leading up to them at your convenience.”

Yularen frowns, and only then does he take the seat in the center-most chair across from Thrawn’s desk. His lips press together as concern crosses his face, but it is brief. “That won’t be necessary,” He admits. “Vanto answered all of High Command’s questions. ISB returned the surviving pirates to Coruscant for trial."

“Survivors?" Thrawn asks gravely, eyes narrowing.

The Colonel tilts his head. “The footage we recovered from the freighter's security system was quite something." His mustache twitches, lips thinning grimly as he says, "I see Vanto has been putting in time in the dojo. And the shooting range." Wordlessly, he produces a datacard, knowing that Thrawn will want to see it.

-/

Humans are emotional. Their wants and motivations are all too often laid bare, requiring little insight on Thrawn's part to understand. But like Chiss, all humans are different. And sometimes, Thrawn knows, that means that they can be surprising. 

Eli Vanto, in particular, has a penchant for surprising him. At first it was concerning, then a touch novel (if for only how ridiculous it was), then something he had come to appreciate. Vanto had gone from merely knowing of his race to anticipating his needs, be it an extra sweetener in his evening tea (to stave off the hunger headache when he was working through a problem) or the data or art he'd want to pick apart their current assignment.

But this, watching Vanto's face twist from worry to dangerously blank—he's watched the footage four times now, unsure of what it is he's looking for—is the most surprising of all.

Thrawn sees the economy in his movements, sees not revenge but the neutralization of a threat. And Vanto does indeed neutralize them.

He is an unassuming man, but he is a warrior nonetheless.

-/

Vanto does not act differently around him. That Thrawn expected he might and is wrong bothers him. In fact, the only difference he has noticed is that his usual tea has been changed out with something sweeter, more soothing to the ache in his throat and the curl of unease in his stomach.

He briefs Thrawn on their position and the orders passed from High Command to Faro. Thrawn was instructed not to be on the bridge for at least five days, but Thrawn has a job to do, and a ship to run. He will delegate as much as possible, but he will be on the bridge of his ship by no later than the day after tomorrow.

"Is there anything you need, sir?"

Thrawn studies him, and Vanto lets him. The moment stretches. There are bruises on Vanto’s knuckles, too new to be from their encounter with the pirates. He has been in the dojo alone, Thrawn thinks. Normally, Thrawn sets aside time for Vanto's continued development in the name of future endeavors, but he has been in bacta, and won’t be in fighting shape for at least another few days..

It seems that Vanto's life would, in fact, go on without him.

"You are well?" Thrawn asks. 

His aide nods. His fists do not clench and unclench like they do when he is nervous. Instead, he gives Thrawn a tentative smile. "Fine, sir," He says. "Glad you're alright."

"Indeed," Thrawn confirms, sounding—and feeling—far closer to normal than he has been since he emerged from medbay nearly ten hours ago. He blames it on the tea, not on Vanto.

They settle in and get back to work.

-/

Thrawn does not sleep often. And when he does, he does not sleep well. At least, that has always been Eli's perception. Considering he spent about five years sleeping about an arm's length away from his commanding officer? He’ll go with what he knows.

When Thrawn is asleep, there is still a sense of alertness to him. Or, usually, there is.

He knows for certain Thrawn wouldn't acquiesce to pain medication that altered him unless his pain is severe. Seeing as Eli had seen his injuries and attempted to triage them (being the only friendly in range), he knew it had to be. Eli probably should have chosen tea for him that had more of an invigorating effect, but Eli also knows his CO would take longer to recover if he ignores his body's needs.

"Sir," Eli begins.

Nothing. 

He does not wait. If the admiral is already nodding off, it isn't going to get better when the meds really kick in. Eli figures it would go better if he didn't have to support all of the admiral's weight. So, he rises, opening the adjoining hatch that housed the admiral's private living quarters, and returns to the sleeping man.

"Thrawn," Eli says, firm.

It takes the Chiss a moment to remember where he is, for the grogginess to clear somewhat. His eyes are a little glazed.

"I have a lot of data to sift through," Eli informs him. "Why don't you sleep it off and we'll regroup when I have something?"

"That is a good idea, commander," He supposes as Eli watches him. He is unsteady, not unlike a drunk, but he manages to make it to the door to his rooms without assistance. "Wake me if need be," He insists, and Eli pretends not to hear the smack of his hand against the wall for support against his dizziness.

-/

Thrawn leaves the door open. If he does not, there is no way Vanto will come to him should anything arise. This is what he tells himself.

The truth is that the door is much too far away once he realizes it's been left open, and his datapad is still on his desk, even further than that. He knows Vanto will close the door and bring his datapad when he takes his leave. Besides, it is Vanto, and it is not the first time he has seen Thrawn in such a state, nor is it likely to be the last. It is Vanto, as simple as that.

He lets himself rest.

-/

There is something cool on his forehead, then the side of his face, and he blinks his eyes open to see Vanto looking down at him in concern, a hand on his face. "You could use an antibiotic infusion," He says, in that no-nonsense tone that told Thrawn he'd be a good commander all those years ago. "Want me to do it?"

"No," Thrawn replies, and sticks out his hand from the blankets. It's cold in the room, he thinks, but realizes that's why Vanto is pushing the antibiotic hypo in the first place.

The hypo stings like an insect bite, and does nothing for his fever. But Vanto offers him easy leverage to sit up and puts a dose of painkillers in his hand, then a glass of water. 

He goes down like someone flipped a switch, awake to asleep, just like that.

-/

Faro is in his office when he wakes next. Thrawn can hear her talking to Vanto. It's a briefing and he should pay attention, but his drug-addled mind cannot focus as sharply as it should. He hears the mild tenor of Vanto's voice, discussing logistics of some sort, soft and smooth like windblown sand, calm but capable of shaping precious gems. 

He is asleep again in minutes. When the outer door to his office hisses shut, he doesn't hear it.

-/

There is something for sharing a space with someone, Thrawn thinks. Vanto has taken up use of his desk chair, not that Thrawn blames him. It is the most comfortable piece of furniture in his office, and that is not saying much. Vanto is lost in thought, quiet and pensive, a stern set to his face. 

There are datacards in the holo-projector that aren't his, a napkin turned coaster protecting his desk top from the heat of now-cooled, mostly drunk caf. He surveys his place, the center from which he commands, and considers for a moment what the Empire might be if more humans like Eli Vanto were welcomed into its service and granted the opportunities they deserved. 

It is hardly worth lingering on, he realizes. This is but one of the Empire's many, many mistakes and he does not yet have the resources to enact such change.


End file.
